Fiberrific

The trip had artsy goodness, too.

I spent way too much money on yarn I have no purpose for other than to squeeze and whisper loving sentiments to:



The plundered cat-lady stash looks like brains. Am suspicious and wary of them. Am I typically a pink fluffy cardigan kind of librarian? Maybe not, but come October I just may channel my inner Dolores Umbridge. Mwah hahahaha.



We went into Starbucks and I stood brooding moodily at the couch where I sat and broke my own heart three years ago over a grande coffee, when suddenly my eye fell upon a knitted tea cup on the merchandise shelf. A KNITTED TEA CUP. My mother saw my eyes dilate into saucers and promptly bought the thing for me.

Delicious.



Also I found my old drafting pen, appropriated my cousin's sketchbook, and doodled a bit.



So all that, in addition to being mock-frisked by a cop with a french manicure and risking my mother's life in a battle against schnauzer-sized roaches, rounds out a pretty fun trip to Oahu. Shall begin hoarding vacation time again forthwith.

Moving on: today I pulled the strips I had cut before vacation and pieced the baby blanket for the new nephew-to-be. Not really my style, but folks on the mainland expect the Hawaiiana. Must find a way to work some personality into these things:

further notes from vacation

Am home. Highlights:

Mom found a bag of crystal meth on the sidewalk, called cops.
Police officer was ridiculously good-looking lady cop who looked like she took a wrong turn from the set of her tv drama.
Was used as prop by cop in hi-larious anecdote about junkie with a fanny pack full of meth and a blow-up doll [was junkie].
Made a pizza; opened oven to prepare for pizza and found forgotten mac and cheese casserole from previous week's party - and horrifying colony of several dozen B-52 cockroaches.
Watched mother make brave dash from oven to lanai with oven rack covered in dangling trapeze roaches.
Watched cousin turn the laptop into a light saber.
Gave kiddo a bedtime hug and was accidentally head-butted, broke front tooth.
Broke camera at the beach.

Brilliant vacation! Back on Maui. Cats have shredded kitchen tablecloth, broke out a window, pooped in the bathtub, and left dead things on bedroom floor. Bought ourselves a bottle of Baileys. Pictures upon location of camera cord and creative coaxing of broken camera.

In the meantime, here is dxfh trying to catch the house on fire with a tiki torch. While cousin snapped this picture, I was hanging off the plastic door of the fire extinguisher on the side of the building; fire gained momentum thereafter and was eventually smothered by the mormon-lady pot before I could get the emergency box open:

vacations!

Short notes:

In a rare turn of events, my uncle and several cousins have come to visit, and we find ourselves in a glorious mass of family. For my mother's 50th birthday, we hosted a bbq behind her house. The boys blew up the grill, and one of the tiki torches caught fire and nearly burned down the tent, so we cheered the event as a success.

In the in-between moments when the crew bundled off to the beach, my mother and I curled up in her bedroom spinning stories while I finished knitting the unseasonal sweater, which I could not persuade the infink to model. 89 degree weather, pshaw.

We forgot the camera cord, so I've had to point the laptop at things instead:









And then I bought 4 more skeins of yarn. "Why don't you do projects you already have yarn for?" asks dxfh. "I just did that. Now I get to fill the holes in my stash with fancy alpaca." Yes, that - and the giant rolls of mohair my mother plundered from a crazy knitting cat lady's stash. One of our friends is a psychiatrist, and has been purging her client of a mountainous stash (studded with cats) which has threatened to overwhelm the old lady's home and sanity. I fear I may have seen my fate here. It works, though; I started knitting to ward off heartbreak, and now when unexpected reminders of days long gone pop up to kick my knees out, I find myself fingering fluffy fibers and visualizing knitted motorcycle cozies [organ pillows, robots, etc] long enough for it to pass. Boring for onlookers, but effective for the tender-hearted.

In other news: Ben has been writing the outline to his great American zombie novel, Mikey ate beef tendons, Jen survived a landslide and only nearly lost her leg, Uncle Mark has thrown himself off of cliffs into horrifying surf, my mom turned a cot into a chaise lounge, dxfh bought new beer-making supplies, and Gavin lost a tooth and has all the skin peeling off his face. Quite a remarkable week. ^_^

Of blood and yarn

More reason not to get a tattoo this weekend. Although, again, possibly getting a tattoo is not the same as having a huge nurse jam a thick needle into your arm and suck out 5 (!) vials of blood. Possibly.

Nosferatu's delight:



My fingers returned to finger-shapes and I was able to kill the couch-quarantine time by knitting most of a sweater for the wee bairn. Making it a bit too big, since it's still summer and all. Most of my knitting is conditioned by running the yarn through cat mouths. It's a special, advanced technique that adds "heirloom quality". This is vestee, with added cables on the sleeves. A very easy and satisfying pattern, which one can do automatically to soothe oneself while reading ultra-gore vampire novels.



Leif has begun to resemble a child this week. For a brief, crazed moment yesterday, I thought it might be time to open a new one. Haaaahahaha. No.

The cutes with a coconut this morning:



I am not askaired of spiders, but this one freaked me out. Have searched databases of spiders, can not identify it. Looked like a mutant scorpion-attack-spider. It may or may not be bioengineered for evil. We put it in the downstairs neighbor's bushes, mwahahaha.



In other activity: have cut fabric for sister-in-law's new baby blanket, am almost finished with The Strain, by Guillermo Del Toro, and can walk again. Just in time to go back to work and dance to the Wiggles with the summer reading kids. Am armed with Aleve, which is not as hip as Vicoden and I don't have a cool walking stick for thumping people with, but we must all have goals in life for which to strive.

Word from the doc

I didn't realize how badly my range of motion was limited until I almost ran into the health center sign trying to turn the steering wheel and having my left arm seize up. Ended up paddling in with just my right hand. No word on cause of body failure, doctor suspects RA, and has me coming back in for blood tests today. I didn't know you could find arthritis in blood. Suspecting she is testing me for something she is not telling me about. Maybe leprosy, or gangrene...

dxfh took a break from beer brewing to foray into cheesecake making. And he washed dishes afterward. This is why I keep him around.

ooo-er



and phwaawwrr

"'Holly,'" I said to myself, poking the fork into my mouth, "'Your husband has started an illegal cock-fighting ring!' 'That is ok, because I have cheesecake.' 'Holly! Your husband is in the bedroom with a hooker right now!' 'But, you see, that is ok, because I have cheesecake.'" It was very good cheesecake.

^_^

Softie

Having to spend a few hours shopping for the start of the Summer Reading Program yesterday, I woke up this morning barely able to walk. Popped two Aleve, with no appreciable difference. I jumped [staggered] into the Sweet Spot of the couch - the cozy side next to the knitting basket with the windowsill at the ready to hold tea cups - and tried working on the pullover I'm making for Leif. Yes, I know it's summer and yes, I know I live on Maui, but in the winter I am too busy eating liquor candies and making stockings for the cats to knit anything practical, so there you have it. Unfortunately, my mom's cat has decided she likes me, and laid on my lap gnawing through my yarn. Then my fingers swelled into bratwursts because of whatever is wrong with my joints, so I put it aside. Leif crawled on me and yelled MAMAMAMMAMA into my face, so I picked up the Strain, by Guillermo Del Toro, and read him a few chapters to soothe him. For some reason this didn't work. Finally his dad carried him off for a nap, and I picked up some paper, designed a little pattern, and made a stuffed animal with the new tattoo fabric I bought at the overpriced boutique yesterday (which is turning me into a magpie, half a yard at a time). Tattoos have been a bit of a theme lately; my mother wants to get one for her birthday, and I half-volunteered to get one with her, but then I ran over my finger with the sewing machine and have reconsidered. Possibly getting a tattoo is not the same as getting your hand mangled by a Singer, but I am not so sure.

Rattatattoo:


















Next time I'd make the top of the head more narrow, and slip-stitch the arms properly. Even so, I think I love this very bad little rat.

Thrills and horrors

My brown betty was looking cold, so I knit it a sweater. It has a "T" on it, for "T-pot".





Today I did something I have never done: walked into a realtor's office. I've walked into a realtor's home before, which had entire rooms filled with homoerotic paintings and tiki torches by the pool, so I was a bit disappointed by the beige walls and brown carpeting in the real estate office.

It went like this:

"Hi!"
"Hi! Can I help you?"
"I think I want to buy a house. Or even a shack, maybe a hovel. Something with a toilet and electricity would be good."
"Ummm, did you get one of these?" [hands me a printout of recent listings]
"Nope, let's see..."
"This is our cheapest one right now."
[*gasp splutter*] "Do cheaper ones ever pop up?"
"Well, yeah, but, you know..."
[I snap my fingers, realtor nods] "Can you keep me on a list of hopefuls and call me when it's time to pounce?"
"Sure! Let's get your name..."

And so with a bit of chit-chat, scribbling, horrified chest-grasping, consolation pats, and some warnings not to get my hopes up, I trotted back to the car a new woman. A woman with a realtor. Oooer, there's the slim possibility that I might turn 30 with a mortgage to go with my arthritis! How exciting. I want a garden with the aforementioned zombie-tripping mini-fence and tiny red door, and a wrought-iron chandelier (will find some way to attach to corrugated tin roof), and a claw-foot bathtub. I've seen a few being used as cow troughs in some of the fields, maybe I can pinch one into the VW without anyone noticing...

Full of fantasy today.

Old oldy old.

Except I can't really blame this on age, since it's been a problem since I was pregnant with Gavin: I think I have arthritis. Have made appointment to confirm decrepidosity on Monday. Knees are swollen up like ham hocks, shoulders feel like they are made of ground glass, and now my ankles are joining in just for fun. Good chance they may all have to be amputated. It's vair tragic.

quilted by monkeys

Progress report.

Here there be zig zags:




The Anna Maria Horner quilt is coming along. Kind of having a problem with crookedness, owing to a small screaming person wrapped around my pedal leg. Hoping that gives it character later.







Stupid baby blanket. My first attempt at that fun, spontaneous, sew-as-you-go patchwork style has resulted in a hot mess. Will try to salvage it with broad colored borders to knock down the busyness. Thinking am not quilting prodigy.



Leif said his first word! Dada. Vair original. I am still counting his clapping as a word. Also there was banana bread today, a stop at the farmer's market, pasta salad all over the floor of the car (not my fault this time!), work on the book illustrations, and vair minimal shmoopiness. Also gossips: stupid chain-smoking synthesizer-playing donkey-sex neighbors are behind on rent. Landlord has been buying the guy canvases in the hopes that he can sell more crap paintings and pay him. Other neighbor gave them smoking stuffs (ahem) for which they have not paid and are pretending to know nothing about. A few weeks ago they left their kitten alone all weekend with no food or water, so we had to orchestrate a break-in to save it, and now the wee thing is up here all the time. We may not have to move after all! ^_^

yowtch

Watched accursed shmoopy woman-on-death-bed-regrets-lost-love/wasted-life movie. Bah. Someone told me that it takes 2 years to recover from heartbreak. This is not true. My mom says once your heart breaks it never really loves that same person as deeply again. Marc told me you had to wait and see how well the scars blended in with the flesh. I have thoughts about those things, but not enough time has gone by to form a good opinion.

Sigh. Will keep drawing and sewing and mangling yarn and generally trying to stay out of my own head. Plus side: no longer feeling like I'm just waiting out the rest of my life. Feel like I have stuff to do now. Improvement.

Must go drink about a quart of tea and get Brandi Carlile off my ipod rotation for a while. Right. Off I go.

bad kitty

Sunday: traded kiddo for a cat. We packed him up for summer vacation and waited for my mom at the airport. The outdoor walkway between the checkin booths and the security station acts as a wind tunnel, blowing hurricane-force winds and ripping the hats off of tourists even on the mildest of days. Charmed by the tidy white fence bordering a square of fluffy grass, we let Leif crawl around the animal relief station while we waited for my mom. He managed not to eat any poo, and each time a blast of wind rushed in, he put his face into it, sat up on his knees, shook his arms wildly, and became crazed with laughter. He's pretty awesome. Gavin explained the difference between regular airplanes and the robot airplanes he will manufacture some day, and I soaked up his ramblings in anticipation of weeks of missing him.

My mother appeared at the exit doors suddenly, and we ran over to bury her in hugs. She kissed the baby, thrust a cat carrier into my arms, grabbed Gavin by the hand, and rushed to get her return ticket and hustle the boy back through security for their waiting plane. We watched until they disappeared into the crowd, sighed, kissed Leif's blonde curls, and headed home with the cat. [My mother inserts here that as their plane made a very bumpy landing on Oahu, Gavin exclaimed, "Wow, that freaked out my balls!" She imagined many of the other men on the plane had a similar experience.]

So the thing with the cat is this: my mother acquired a beautiful grey kitten a few months ago, so silky as to appear blue. Said kitten finally reached womanhood last week, and every vet in Kaneohe wanted more than $300 to spay the wee thing. Our vet wanted $90. Because we needed to buy airfare for Gavin anyway, it came out to be much cheaper to do the vacation swap with the kiddo and babysit the grey kitty for a couple weeks. Which is fine, except for one thing: we immediately lost her. The doors and windows were shut, save for a two-inch gap on one of the second-story screen windows, but yesterday morning she was not under or behind or within the furniture, closets, fridge, cupboards, or toilets. Poof. Gone. Our cats looked suspiciously relaxed and smug.

I spent most of yesterday evening walking up and down the road and all around the house calling for Tattoo, hoping my voice would sound enough like my mother's to lure her out of the jungle. It did not, and Sookie made matters worse by galloping madly after me, panting like a dog and yowling helpfully into the trees so that I couldn't hear if there were any answering meowowows. Finally I gave up, set a dish of food outside in the hopes that she would return at night when she got hungry. Sookie ate it. We had cookies for dinner to console ourselves, and settled in to watch a crap movie ["Fanboys"]. A half hour into it, I looked over and found Tattoo sitting next to me, watching the television and looking rather bored. RAR!

Cat has been "found", boy has been video-chatted and is happy with his granny, we are living off of cookies, and Leif has learned how to paint with bananas. Things going well this week.

Summer kickoff

Back from a kiddie birthday party potluck. Here are some pictures from this week.

I've started a new (wrinkly) quilt with the fat quarters I got for Mother's Day. I can't bear to cut up the lovely fabric, and I like big bright areas of color, so I'm keeping them simple. The zig-zag quilt is on hold until I get black fabric for the borders.



The kiddo, who has not napped in years, fell asleep on me while petting the cat this morning. I loves him.



The kiddo at tae kwon do lessons yesterday:






Stuffs is good. ^_^

update on boychild #2

Leif has finally started developing a sense of humor. And - I must report - he is a boy. Last night I got in bed with him to nurse, feeling him drift off against me. His hand sleepily stroked my chin and chest, and began to fall limp when suddenly *POOT* he farted himself awake and looked startled. I giggled, and he glanced up at me, smiling without breaking suction so his curling pink tongue showed. He squeezed his eyes shut and grunted, trying to fart again. I giggled, and that set him off into a game of *grunt* giggle *grunt* giggle *grunt*. "The porkchop is a ham!" I exclaimed. He was very pleased with himself.

He was pleased, also, when he managed to poop all over the rug while I was airing his bum and fetching a diaper this morning. I came out of the bedroom to find him painting poo all over his legs, and ran with him at arm's length to the bathtub while he laughed and wiped handfuls into my hair. Erlack.

Also he has started handing things to us and accepting them back, and clapping his hands to pat-a-cake. These blossoming social skills have curbed some of the nazgul shrieking, and we're thinking we might not trade him in after all.

Kiddo's last day of kindergarten.

We baked a double batch of brownies the night before. Gavin was flushed and red across the nose from a day of outdoor water play, and fell asleep on the couch while waiting for the goods to emerge from the oven so he could test to make sure they weren't poisoned. "Everything you make isn't poison, mom," he said sweetly, forgetting all the evenings he has stared in horror into plates of green curry. In the morning, I cut the brownies into small neat squares and put them on a baking sheet. I'm a believer in small foods for potlucks; children can grab them up more easily, people can take just one to be polite, and people on diets may take three or four without feeling guilty because clearly they are so small they don't count.

Been feeling a bit thin-shelled these past few days. Tried to fortify self by strapping down nungas, strapping on ipod, and taking a run Wednesday morning. Feel like legs have been removed mid-femur with a steak knife. Consoled self by squandering Wednesday morning drawing raccoons.
"I hope you don't feel bad when Jack Black reads my raccoon book and falls in love with me," I told the dxfh. "I'm sure his wife and baby will understand, since he's already been my boyfriend for like 10 years. Although I'm not sure I'd really like them hanging around all the time, maybe he'd better not read it. Seth Green used to be my boyfriend -"
"But then there was all that trouble with his hair-"
"Yeah, and I'm afraid he'd do his Family Guy voice in bed, that's just no good. My other boyfriend - wassisname, Captain Hammer - is he married?"
"Probably."
"Maybe my other boyfriend - Steve the Pirate - is available. But he kind of looks like you, so I'm not sure it's much of a trade-up."
"Except he's probably rich."
"I don't know, he was in 'Dodgeball'. I think I have a shot."
He huffed. I gather dxfh does not think my raccoons will compel anybody to realize they love me, but he will see. They will read my picture book, fall desperately in love, and I will remember their names and it will be lovely. I think the dedication page is key, must play that one cunningly to ensure maximum snaggage. Future looking bright.

Run

I've been feeling a bit emotionally fragile the past few days. This is not to say depressed; just sensitive to small comments, inflections, jokes, and thoughts. Thin-shelled. Having your guard up constantly for the better part of 3 years can make for wobbly walls every so often, I suppose. I'd like a nice long weekend alone to curl into myself and emerge re-fortified. And I still feel a bit numb since getting back together with Mike, despite being generally happy and adoring my lovely sons. When Gavin was born I was overwhelmed by emotion and cried; when Leif was born I felt urgency and love, but little excitement. A nice man gave me tomatoes at the circulation desk, trying to snag my eye and engage me in conversation with small questions, and it took me weeks to figure out he may be flirting instead of merely being hopeless on the catalog. I looked at him a bit closer; he wasn't bad looking or crazy, but he didn't register a blip on my radar. Nobody has in years. And I suddenly wondered, have I been ruined for all other men? Does that actually happen outside of red-covered novels? I wanted very much to fall in love again after things went to pieces, but the love I had been tagged with never really dislodged itself, so I've just learned to live with it.

I went running today. Ever fueled by the same one thought; a ghost of a thing that won't leave me.

Authority = buffer

The books dropped off at the circ desk were toasty warm all morning. Someone dropped off a stack of astrophysics educational DVDs, punctuated with Beerfest and Run Fat Boy Run, which I thought was vair amusing. Instead of burning to bits cleaning the outside windows, my janitor decided to make an indoor day of it and assemble the floor buffer.

J: "'Let solution rest 7-8 minutes.' Is that 7-8 minutes in the bucket, or on the floor?"
H: "The floor."
J: "Ok, I'm going to dilute this and let it set. I don't know how powerful that machine is, so if you hear my body flopping around, come pull the plug before it gets too bloody."

Now who could resist an image like that? When I saw the cord snaking out of the production room, I hurried to the door and bobbed expectantly on my toes. One of the larger of the school custodians was explaining how to turn the beast on, backing up slightly as he did so. J. cast an unhappy glance at me, punched the knob, and VRROOOOAAAMMM! flew sideways and slammed into the wall. Brilliant! Our coworker came running, and we both stood in the doorway pantomiming helpful suggestions as he bashed repeatedly into the wall and cupboards. "Hips, use your hips!" We shimmied around, hands reving in front of us as if we were driving tiny motorbikes. But men don't have hips, so we gave him our condolences and scootered away. A bit later I peeked back into the room to find him mopping up the stripper and muttering darkly at the buffer, which had landed in a corner. Deciding that my bonny fat arse could manage the beastie, I seized it, squared my feet, punched the throttle, and was propelled magnificently into the wall. Gah. And because my faith in my bottom is so high, I had to try it twice more before conceding defeat. "I could stand on it for you, maybe that would weight it down enough to maneuver it." We both thought about that for a moment, and then said in unison, "No, that would end very badly." Which is almost enough reason to do it, but I had a skirt on. Buffer wins this time.